They're Calling You Home

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four The meeting room is cold, air-conditioning blowing down on us all as we sit nervously in a semicircle, the moms and dads, daughters and sons, the siblings, and frightened friends, the loose singles. Some look like movie extras , too hip, eyebrows raised, thinking of a million other places they’d rather be than here. People twiddle their fingers, scratch at elbows and cheeks, give in to their anxious ticks, their mouths dry, audibly so when they whisper to the person in the seat next to them. They are trapped, trying to accept that the twelve steps to recovery can’t be done alone. In fact, in Smallwood, Indiana, it can’t even be done in privacy; the nameless facade and supposed secretive detox unit are useless ploys for anonymity. Since I got back two days ago, no fewer than a dozen people have stopped me on the street to tell me how sorry they were to hear about Ike’s “situation.” our Midwestern euphemisms. even Becca stopped by our booth at the wing café and told me to call her if we needed anything. “We can always miss our ballroom class if you guys need us to.” This group session is called “Co-recovery for Family.” I’m here to help Ike admit his life has become unmanageable. It’s the first of many of these, and while they were able to pump his stomach and keep him alive, Ike’s only been in individual therapy since the attempted suicide. Susana has seen him, but no one else. I’m staying at their house, and the kids ask about their father’s treatment as if it were one of their school functions. “So we’ve got Dad’s session tomorrow after school? I’ll have to miss track, but I’ll do a makeup with Coach Weidler.” I wish I were with Browder, who is out to eat with Dick and Mom, all the way up to Shipshewana—amish Country. other than his case manager threatening to call adult protective services in Indiana, not much came from They’re Calling You Home 181 all the notes I was supposed to log but didn’t. Cindy took the time to create them for us. She left a voice mail saying, “Don’t worry. I put the notes into the online system. Three weeks’ worth. If you’re asked, Browder and you are working on his social skills through photography, travel, and meeting new people. That should do it.” The clock ticks like it’s defective, off beat and way too slow. People glance up at it, then at their cell phones. at least two of the older men in attendance make loud sighs, unaccustomed to waiting, but they check their silver wristwatches . In the seats next to me, on my left and right, are brothers of a guy they call randall. I’ve asked them twice if they’d like to switch seats with me so they can sit next to each other, but they act as if I’m suggesting space travel. Finally, two counselors walk in, iPads in hand, and saunter to the front of the sterile room. If I could leap through the cinder block walls, I would, busting out of the place. “okay, folks, thanks for being here today. as you know, your loved ones are in the very early stages of their sobriety, and this is a critical part of them starting off on the right foot. I realize some of you might be tired or skeptical of your loved one’s ability to get clean, but let’s try to give this our best effort . In a few minutes, the eleven individuals in treatment here will enter the room and for the first time lay claim to their alcoholism. Today’s session will be short, about an hour, and from this point forward you’ll need to decide how much time and effort you’ll give this process. Most of the patients in here now will be discharged in a month, which doesn’t mean they’ll be fixed. you’ve signed confidentiality forms. Please take those seriously, ethically and legally.” With that, the man motions for the younger woman counselor to bring in our clowns. The whole atmosphere does have a circus quality to it, not that it’s insincere, but parading people in before their ashamed loved ones seems like something Barnum & Bailey might have tinkered with. a door...